


The Virgin and the Frog

by NineOfSpades



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Eventual Johnlock, M/M, Russian folk tale AU, Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineOfSpades/pseuds/NineOfSpades
Summary: “My name is Mike Stand-in-the-Ford,” croaked the frog.  “I have come on account of one of my friends.  I would like to introduce you!”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 3





	The Virgin and the Frog

**Author's Note:**

> Alexandwrite was taking a Russian folklore class and told me to write a vodyanoy AU. This was the result, for which I take no responsibility. The beginning is modelled after Lidushka and the Water-Demon's Wife. 
> 
> Dedicated to Alexandwrite and NovaNara as belated thanks for the support and encouragement for a past, sadly incomplete work.

In a certain place lived a young beekeeper, whose name was Sherlock. One day, as he was washing severed body parts off in a rivulet, a large, fat frog swam toward him, looking so odd that Sherlock was alarmed at the sight of it. 

“How strange,” he mused. “Typically the frogs native to this region are smaller in size. And I’ve never seen one so… friendly… before.” 

The ugly-looking frog approached near to the spot where Sherlock was washing, spread its legs out on the top of the water, and, opening its mouth as if it wished to say something, stood perfectly still. 

“Are you mating?” said Sherlock aloud. “Is this some sort of courtship ritual?” 

It was silly of him, he reflected, talking to the frog as though it could understand him. But the frog turned to him, with large, intelligent eyes, and the wide-lipped mouth still gaping open in its silly face. 

“What could a great fat frog like this want here,” said Sherlock to himself, “and why is it doing that with its mouth? Is it hungry?” 

He then felt around in his pockets for food, and found two thick slices of bread with marmalade from a breakfast he barely remembered leaving in the middle of, having suddenly realized that there was an execution this morning and that he’d be able to sneak the cadaver out for research if he left quickly. He broke off a piece of bread and tossed it at the frog, who jumped up and caught it in its wide, wide mouth. 

“Very good, very good!” croaked the frog. 

“You speak!” said Sherlock, startled. “What are you?” 

“My name is Mike Stand-in-the-Ford,” croaked the frog. “I have come on account of one of my friends. I would like to introduce you!” 

“But you silly thing,” said Sherlock, furrowing his brow, his veins beginning to fill with adrenaline, “how am I to go with you? I can’t swim, and…”

“Can’t swim?” said the frog, eyes popping – which was not so much an expression of surprise as the default state for a frog. “Why, how undersea do you get around?” 

“I don’t get around undersea,” said Sherlock, rather peevishly. “I’m a land-dwelling creature – a mammal, to be precise. I walk about on land like…” he cast about in his memory for an animal that the frog might recognize which walked about on land. “Wait. Frogs walk about on land, don’t they? Or, hop, rather, but the purpose is the same, even if the mechanism differs.” 

“Hmmm,” said Mike Stand-in-the-Ford. “Down in the river we have a goodly many creatures who only stay underwater and never come onto the land. They are sadly ignorant of all the good things the land has to offer. I never thought of it before, but I suppose some land-dwellers might be just the opposite.” It looked pensive, an expression that seemed out of place on the face of such a large, funny-looking frog. Then it brightened, and clapped its front flippers together. “Well, today is just your day! I will show you all of the good things you have been missing! And the river is such a lovely place – much nicer than the land, with all its dirt and angry mammals.” Mike swam around in a circle. 

“But how will I get there?” Sherlock said more insistently. 

“Come, come, come,” croaked Mike, spreading out its legs and swimming on the water. 

Sherlock followed it. He walked along the banks of the river while Mike swam in the shallow water beside him. He muttered to himself all the while, grousing angrily about the state of affairs. 

“Really, it’s highly irrational to expect someone to follow you before you’ve explained what exactly they are to be doing, or given them some incentive to want to _reach_ your destination…”

This, of course, did not seem to deter Sherlock from continuing to follow the frog. But Sherlock was not nearly so rational as he would have liked to believe. The game was afoot, and Sherlock could no more stop himself from chasing after it than a frog could prevent its tongue from flashing out and trapping a juicy bug. Besides, he knew that if he turned back and went home, his curiosity would eat him alive. A talking frog was a strange phenomenon that hadn’t appeared in any of the scientific texts he’d paid a thief to steal from the castle, and he couldn’t pass up a chance to understand more about it. 

Mike swam on until it came to a sort of naturally-forming dam, where it stopped and croaked, “Fear not, fear not! Remove that stone, and under it you will see a flight of stairs; they will lead you down to my—”

“Hang on,” said Sherlock. “Stairs?” 

“We and the toads built them so we could visit one another!” said Mike. “We—”

“With what materials?” Sherlock interrupted, carefully setting down the arm he’d been carrying and prying up the stone. “And how- the creation of stairs implies you are a member of an advanced, tool-using civilization. How have we never come into contact with people – er, beings – like you?” 

The frog looked at him quizzically. 

“Never mind,” Sherlock sighed. He picked up the severed arm again. “Is there someone else I might ask down there?” 

“Oh, plenty!” said Mike. “Down in the Riverwide Research Institute – there’s plenty of brilliant river spirits! Geniuses – they’d put you and me to shame.” 

This did not please Sherlock at all, but Mike turned away before it could see Sherlock’s expression. 

“We’ll go to my house!” Mike said, hopping forward. “Come, come! I will go before you.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. The strange stairway under the stone was dark, and he could barely make out where the stairs lay. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever, with no end in sight. 

Alas - wherever the game led, Sherlock was sure to follow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Send sacrifices of honey and bread in the comments!


End file.
